


Wistful Thinking

by yodasyoyo



Series: Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Bad Boy Stiles Stilinski, Derek Wears Glasses, Drunk Stiles, M/M, Nerd Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 11:09:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5246084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yodasyoyo/pseuds/yodasyoyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unfortunately Derek has had a crush on Stiles for years. It's not like Stiles has ever noticed him though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wistful Thinking

**Author's Note:**

> So here is a fic, what has been sitting on my laptop for ages, and I finally decided to post it. In this AU they are both in their final year at Hogwarts. Derek and Laura are twins and prefects (Laura for Ravenclaw, Derek for Hufflepuff.) Stiles (Gryffindor) is the resident bad boy who Derek has been crushing on for years, but who he has never really plucked up the courage to talk to properly.
> 
> In my head, Derek is British in this and Stiles is American. I don't know why.

Derek is on his way back to the Hufflepuff Common Room after patrolling the corridors, when he spots a figure slouched against the statue of Wilfred the Wistful, clutching something to their chest.

_Damn, Laura._

His twin sister cut away early this evening, gone to meet her boyfriend in the astronomy tower, and now he's going to have to deal with this- whatever it is- alone.

He quickens his pace, wanting to get this over with.

“I love you Wilf-ed,” says a familiar voice, “I jus- I jus- really _really_ love you. You're my favourite.” The figure slumps uneasily, resting their head against the cool stone, and a half empty bottle of Ogden's Firewhisky dangles precariously between two long fingers.

Derek looks away, color rushing to his cheeks, he pushes his black, thick rimmed glasses up his nose nervously.

Stiles.

God dammit.

Of all the people to find in this situation, it would have to be Stiles.

Maybe he should just leave... nobody has to know that Derek's seen him.

But then... what if one of the other prefects finds him like this?

Stiles might get in trouble.

He stands there for a moment, torn, before clearing his throat, “You're not supposed to be out here you know.”

Stiles starts and blinks up at Derek owlishly with wide amber eyes. “Whassat?” he slurs.

Derek takes a step closer. “I said, you're not supposed to be out here,” he repeats in his best prefect voice. “You need to go back to your common room.”

Stiles peers at him, the dim light of recognition flickers faintly in his eyes. “Der'k?” he mumbles and tries to stand properly. “Fuck. Der'k?” He leans in and Derek tries not to recoil as the pungent smell of firewhisky assaults his nose. He grimaces.

Stiles reaches out an unsteady hand, and grips Derek's shoulder with surprising strength, then leans in closer, tongue peeking out to lick his lips.

Derek tracks the movement, and unwillingly his eyes drift upward to meet Stiles' gaze.

He is not going to let himself be affected by this.

He is _not._

His stupid little unrequited crush, on the resident Hogwarts bad boy is just- well, he isn't going to let it affect his prefect duties.  
  
He is _not._

So there.

After all, it isn't like Stiles is that great. Sure he has that soft brown hair that Derek just wants to run his fingers through, and there are the plump pink lips that twist into a roguish smile, and the eyes that shine whisky gold when the light hit them through the windows of the Great Hall. Not to mention the moles that smatter Stiles high cheekbones, and his fingers. Oh God... his fucking _fingers_. Derek has _dreamed_ about those fingers. And, okay, it isn't just Stiles' looks though, he's funny and sexy and confident. He messes around all the time in class and he's in detention constantly, but every now and then he'll say something casually that reveals just how clever he _really_  is. Derek is convinced he's secretly a genius.

Basically Stiles is kind of perfect.

Well almost perfect.

Perfect except that he flirts with Lydia Martin all the time.

Perfect except that sometimes he teases Derek, making him blush and stutter and drop his parchment on the floor in Transfiguration, which is the only lesson they share.  
  
So yeah, Stiles is perfect, except for that.  
  
The thing is, Derek is not popular. At least, not like Stiles is. He is a good student though and he works hard. He has some of the best grades in his year, he's a prefect and he's editor of The Beacon, which is the Hogwarts school newspaper. (Laura says he works _too_ hard. What does she know though? Sisters. They think they know _everything_.)

Stiles sways a little, maintaining his death grip on Derek's shoulder for balance. “S'up Der'k?” he slurs. “Whatchu doin'?”

Derek leans back as best he can under the circumstances and exhales through gritted teeth. “Patrol, Stiles,” he says, feeding just enough irritation into his tone that it registers through Stiles drunken haze.

Stiles snorts. “ _Patrol, Stiles_ ,” he mimics, and moves his other hand to grasp at the collar of Derek's robes.

Derek places his hand over Stiles' in an effort to remove it. “Yes. Patrol. Some of us have responsibilities.”

Stiles blinks at him, eyes narrowing dangerously. “I can- I do- I coul- _fuck_ -” he breathes heavily. “Words are so haaarrd Der'k.” His head lolls forward finding its home in the crook of Derek's shoulder, his breath skating over the skin at the hollow of Derek's throat.

Derek shivers.

“Why are you here, Stiles?” he says raggedly after a beat. “Why are you drunk?”

Stiles doesn't answer, instead he nuzzles a little further into Derek's body. Derek tenses, willing himself to think of something, anything else. _Professor Harris naked on a broom. Professor Harris naked on a broom._ He chants to himself, his eyes fluttering shut. It doesn't work. His mind doesn't want to think about Harris naked. It wants to think about the warm press of Stiles body against his own.

Damn it.

He's going to end up standing here all night, too polite and confused and  _aroused_ to move.

There's the unmistakable sound of a snore.

Derek cracks an eye open.

For _goodness sake_ , Stiles is _asleep_. 

He jostles Stiles shoulder gently. “Stiles!” he hisses, “Stiles!”

“Wha-?” Stiles murmurs grumpily. “What?”

“You can't stay here. We- I – you have to move. If a teacher catches us we'll get in trouble.”

Stiles snuffles against Derek's shoulder, both his hands now clinging on for dear life. “M'always in trouble.” He sags a little, and it's all Derek can do to hold him upright.

He doesn't know what to do.

He's fairly sure he can't carry him. Maybe he could levitate him, but that would involve him being able to get access to his wand, and both his hands are currently involved in the business of holding Stiles up.

“Well, I'm not!” he bursts out in frustration.

Stiles startles back a little at Derek's vehement tone. “Wha-? Not?”

“I'm not always in trouble,” Derek clarifies, in a tight voice, “and I'd like to keep it that way, so if you would be so kind as to start moving.”

Stiles chuckles. “If you would be so kind?” he slurs mockingly and attempts to bow. He stumbles instead, nearly falling over.

Derek catches him awkwardly, Stiles slumping on to his chest. Derek winds an arm round his waist to steady him.

“I'm feel bit dizzy.” Stiles mumbles, fisting Derek's robes tightly, they are so close now, so close Derek can count his goddamn moles if he wants to.

Which he doesn't.  
  
Okay there are five.   
  
That he can see.  
  
From this angle.  
  
Whatever.

Stiles blinks up at him owlishly and for one moment they stare into each others eyes.

“Huh. You got eyes,” Stiles mutters, leaning back a little and peering at him.

Derek nods tightly.

Stiles nods in agreement, “S'nice. S'nice eyes.” A dopey smile blooms across his face and he leans back further and then further still. Derek can see it happening, can feel the moment when gravity starts working against them. Apparently he's the only one though. Stiles looks comically surprised as he topples backwards and Derek lunges forward trying to stop him from falling.

This time it doesn't work.

The firewhisky bottle flies out of Stiles grasp and smashes against the castle wall, echoing loudly in the empty corridor. Derek's glasses slip off his nose and land with a clatter by Wilfred the Wistful, as Stiles falls backwards, dragging Derek with him until they are both sprawled in a tangle of limbs on the castle floor.

For one moment everything is silent.

Well, silent except for harsh breathing and the sound of firewhisky dripping down the castle wall. Stiles blinks up at him, his nose touching Derek's own.

“Ooops,” Stiles says with a fair attempt at contrition, he's wriggling, squirming to get out and away that does nothing to help Derek. _Nothing_.

Derek can feel his face flaming with embarrassment. He tries to lever himself up and well... that does nothing to help the situation in his pants. He pauses, utterly mortified by the betrayal of his own body. It's all the fault of the moles, and the eyes, and the proximity, and the- the Stiles.

He's a terrible person.

This is not okay. Nothing about this is okay.

He exhales slowly, willing himself to calm down.

Stiles shifts under him again, and Derek barely suppresses a shudder. He glances down, dreading what he's going to see.

Stiles looks up with wide eyes. “Der'k?” he mutters in confusion, “Der'k?”

Derek bites his lip and closes his eyes, a pained expression on his face, “Yes Stiles?”

“I like y'teeth.”

There's a pause. Derek cracks one eye open, “What now?”

Stiles is smiling lazily up at him. “Y'have nice teeth.” he says blurrily. “They're all cute, like a lil' bunny.”

He raises his hands to his face clumsily and uses his index fingers to mimic bunny teeth.

Derek levers himself up a little on one hand, his inappropriate boner situation momentarily forgotten. “What now?” he repeats.

Stiles attempts to roll his eyes and nearly manages it. “Teeth. Yours. Cute.” he says. “C'mon Der'k, y'spposed to be all smart and stuff.”

Derek looks at him, suddenly feeling like he's the one that has been drinking the firewhisky. “A-Are you- _mocking_ me?” he asks, finally, his features pinched with hurt and annoyance.

Stiles shakes his head belligerently. “No mocking,” he slurs, “you have the bes' teeth and the bes' eyes too.” He gazes up at Derek unblinkingly, “They're so pretty.”

Derek can feel his heart hammering in his chest, this is it, isn't it? This was some kind of set up or something. He's been too obvious with his crush and now Stiles is making fun of him. “Right,” he says in a strangled voice, “right. Well. That's fine.” He tries to get up, but Stiles grabs on to him like a limpet.

“Wha- where y'going?” he asks blurrily.

Derek pries himself out of Stiles' grasp and scrambles awkwardly to his feet, his cheeks aflame.

He can't look at Stiles, but he sticks out his hand.

“Come on," he grinds out, “We better get you back to your common room.”

There's a long pause, and Derek glances down at him.

Stiles is looking up at him muzzy and confused.

Derek glares back.

Stiles blinks, shrugs awkwardly and makes a grab at Derek's hand finally finding it on his third attempt. Derek helps to pull him upright.

Stiles slumps into him heavily, “Don't be angry, Der. Don't be angry tha' I like y'teeth.”

Derek sighs bitterly, and loops an arm under Stiles shoulders as they begin the slow, unsteady walk back to the Gryffindor common room.

He is not going to relish the close contact between them, or the way Stiles long fingers grab at his, tangling their hands together.

He is _not_.

Fuck his life.

Seriously.

 

o0o

 

**Author's Note:**

> So there you go. Short and sweet. 
> 
> I may eventually write more stories in this 'verse if I'm feeling inspired at some point, although I can't promise anything. I kind of have half an idea of Stiles trying to woo Derek in increasingly extravagant ways or maybe doing a little prequel to this story maybe from Stiles POV. I dunno if it's worth it, but if I do it, I'll post them as stories in their own right and turn this into a series. Either way, I'm fairly happy with this as a little oneshot, and I hope you've enjoyed it too!


End file.
